The Bodyguard
by MegLily
Summary: I've always found Ariadne a bit dull, so I replaced her with Pythagoras. Jason becomes his bodyguard after an assassination attempt. Other than that, everything is pretty much canon! Please give it a go :)
1. A Marriage is Announced

**My eternal thanks to Princess Shania for this prompt. She very kindly allowed me to use it, and I'd like to point you towards her story, 'The King and the Lionheart'. I hope you enjoy this; if you do, let me know; if you don't, let me know about that too. I promise not to cry! (too much!) :)**

* * *

Pythagoras had everything. His father doted on him. His palace was beautiful, he was utterly beloved by his people; they rather enjoyed the novelty of a sweet, quietly bookish prince who tended the sick rather than whoring and frequenting taverns. They often boasted of him to visitors, telling them of all the wonderful things he had done for people. he was a gift from the gods, they said, their perfect prince.

When the plague hit the city, Pythagoras had been in the slums every day and night, tending the poor. King Minos had ordered him arrested and locked into his rooms under armed guard, he had been so afraid of his son catching the disease. It hadn't worked. It had taken Pythagoras less than an hour to fashion a makeshift pulley out of carefully plaited sheets and bits of his dressing screen frame that gently lowered him from his window, complete with a basket of medical supplies. He didn't return for four days, having to be carried like a child, sick with exhaustion. Only four people died of the infection that summer. Pythagoras still gives offerings for them every year.

When bread riots broke out in the lower town, the prince had thrown himself between the poor, starving men and the imperial guard. There was no need for violence, he had said. The palace simply had to share its own stores of food with the city. It was only right. And the king could not refuse in the face of such selflessness, as Pythagoras prostrated himself publicly before his father, begging him to save those who were starving. The people were wild with adoration.

So when the time came for the price to be betrothed, there was naturally rather a lot of interest. Even more so when it was announced that he would be marrying Heptarian, the general of the Atlantean army and the queen's nephew. A handsome, charming man. The people were ecstatic with joy at the prospect of such happiness for their prince.

* * *

The prince's chambers were utterly beautiful. Castor, the new manservant, had never been anywhere so lovely. He simply stared in awe. The room was a good size, but no impressively so, not compared to the rest of the palace. The floor was polished stone, a slight sandy colour that suggested sun and warmth. The walls and high ceiling were covered in rich blue cloths, embroidered with gold thread in tiny intricate patterns. When a slight breeze ran around the room, the cloths shifted slightly, the thread glinting. It gave the impression that the room was really not inside at all, but in some magical world where the sky was shot through with gold. And there were books everywhere; thick leather things in red and green leather, thin tomes of the latest scientific theories covered in cheap coloured papyrus, piles of scrolls of the prince's own work tied up in ribbons and bands.

Pythagoras walked through the door, shrugging out of his cloak and smiling warmly at his manservant. Castor nervously tried to flatten his messy chestnut hair.

'Good evening, sir! And may I offer my congratulations on tonight's announcement?' he murmured, taking the heavy cloth that Pythagoras had been so quick to remove and folding it neatly.

Pythagoras sighed. 'I suppose news travels fast.' He pulled himself together and ran his hands through his curls, messing them out of the careful style so that they stuck up on top of his head.

'It's quite alright, Castor, I'm sure I can get myself to bed.' He laughed. 'Weren't you supposed to be meeting Corinna tonight?'

'Yes, my lord.' The boy was obviously smitten. Corinna, one of the maidservants, was a sweet, pretty girl who would keep him from falling foul of the city's many crooks.

'Go on, then, don't keep her waiting!' he grinned. The boy smiled and bowed as he shut the door quietly behind him.

Pythagoras removed his soft cream tunic and hung it over his dressing screen, throwing on a cotton nightshirt. He carefully drew the curtains around his bed and made sure that the door was closed. Then he crawled into bed, curled into a ball, pulling the soft cotton sheets around his small frame and wept.

Tears ran over his face and he almost choked on his grief.

Sobs shook his whole frame and panicked whimpers escaped his throat, louder than he'd expected. He pulled the blankets tight over his head to muffle the sound then had to throw them off, choking, as he began to hyperventilate, lungs screaming but he was unable and unwilling to calm himself down.

Now was the time to weep and curse and throw things, and in the morning he would go down to breakfast, smile at Heptarian and begin to prepare for his wedding. But now he would be selfish and have his breakdown. He cried and shuddered until he exhausted himself enough to sleep, curled around a pillow wet with tears.


	2. Jason

**Thankyou to my lovely reviewers, I like you guys a lot. This chapter's a little more cheerful, but don't worry, more angst to come! Please do review, even if it's just to let me know my stuff's being read, it really does motivate me to keep writing… **

Jason was being attacked. Again.

It was the third time in less than a week that one of Hercules' 'simple' security jobs had ended in total fiasco and Jason being forced to fight off whoever was trying to kill them.

The burly goon wielding the club swung at his face. Mistake. Jason grabbed it, twisting the man's arm upwards then grabbing him round the neck in a chokehold and pulling him back against his chest as a human shield. His friends, two overwhelmingly enormous thugs who had clearly seen many more street brawls than Jason backed off as the captive would-be thief started to turn a rather lovely shade of burgundy.

One of the men, wearing a tunic obviously designed to show off the frankly disturbing amount of muscle on his shoulders, held up his hands in platitude.

'Okay, okay, boy. Put him down and we'll leave you in peace.' Jason didn't believe it for half a second, but had no wish to choke a man to death. He released him and shoved him at his friends' feet. The man lay panting with relief until the second man, slightly smaller, but still twice the size of Jason kicked him in the ribs and told him to get the hell up. By the time he was recovered sufficiently to look up, Jason was sprinting along the same alley that Medusa had taken with the strongbox. Hercules was nowhere to be seen, having legged it the moment they'd been jumped. He knew that he was a liability in any confrontation, and Jason and Medusa were perfectly capable of looking after themselves. What else would you expect from a reformed master thief and Atlantis' foremost personal protection expert?

* * *

Jason slammed the door shut behind him and leant against the wall of the home he shared with Medusa and Hercules, sliding down the surface until he sat on the floor.

Their rooms were basic: a room for dining and sitting took up most of the space in the little compartment, with two doorways leading off into Hercules' and Medusa's rooms. Jason had slept on a straw mattress in the main area since the two had taken him in after he'd fallen through the portal in Atlantis. The three had become a team; Hercules procured jobs for them, Medusa now specialised in the recovery of stolen goods, and Jason's athletic abilities and fame as the killer of the Minotaur had made him a much sought-after bodyguard.

It was only when they worked together that things tended to go wrong.

Pushing himself up wearily, Jason inspected the damage. They'd been ambushed so quickly that the thugs had managed to get a few solid hits in before he'd managed to grab one and hold the others off long enough for to Medusa get away with the strongbox they'd been tasked to guard. He forced himself up and crossed the apartment into Medusa's room, which contained their only mirror; a beautiful full-length thing, the only item she'd kept from her thieving days.

After she had fallen in love with Hercules, many Atlanteans had woken to find vanished items mysteriously returned, or small purses of coins hanging from their doors. Once, after a night of wine and plenty after an unusually successful job, she had said that gaining something precious of your own was enough to make you realise how much it must hurt to have it stolen from you. But the mirror was useful in a more practical way, in that it meant you could fix yourself up after a fight, and unfortunately, that made it indispensable to the three of them.

Jason stood in front of it now, eyes running over his own reflection. It always shocked him these days; after years of taking reflective surfaces for granted, he now only rarely saw himself. He somehow still expected the English archaeologist with his hoodies and Converse, slightly tanned, hair messy, young, innocent. Now, he was shocked at how much older he seemed. The way his skin had darkened in the Atlantean sun made his eyes seem brighter. His hair was longer, curlier than he'd ever seen it. Back home, it would have looked strange, but in Atlantis it seemed normal, just like the tunic and leggings he now wore. Foolishly, he'd left off his leather chestplate today; what would have happened if one of the men had had a knife? But conversely, it had made him faster, unencumbered by the unbending armour.

There was a wide purple bruise blossoming across his right cheek, flecking with grit from where he'd fallen from the force of the blow. Scrapes across his arms from the street and the wall he'd been thrown into as he took on three at once to allow Medusa to run; while she was quick, she was too light to be of much use in a fistfight. Better to make sure they could claim the protection fee. Scratch marks on one arm and shoulder from the man's scrabbling attempts to get free. Those were bleeding a little, the rough material of his tunic beginning to turn rust-coloured and stick to the skin.

All in all, nothing to worry about. Still, maybe best to keep a low profile for a little while; small gangs of thieves tended to band together, and the last thing he wanted to do was to get beaten up when it wasn't for any good reason. No big jobs, nothing too public, at least for a few weeks.

But then again, trouble did have a habit of seeking him out.


	3. Not Quite Right

**Thankyou you reviewers, what a bunch of lovelies you are... I never intended it to take so long for ****Pythagoras and Jason meet**, but they'll get there soon, I promise!

Pythagoras was always happiest in the shabby, noisy mess that made up his city.

Here, he was more than a prince. Here, he was someone of worth; a healer, a counsellor, a storyteller to the grubby, dusty urchins who followed him wherever he went- his own band of Lost Boys.

At this moment, the prince was dressed in rougher-than-usual green; he'd learnt a while ago that it was insulting to wander the slums in all his princely finery. They wanted a human being, someone they could relate to. The golden circlet on his head and the silken robes of turquoise and aquamarine were for the palace, not the lower town.

Stood on the dusty street of the labourers' district, with his thick, curling hair unbrushed and a noisy child on his hip, intent on smearing his mucky hands into as much of the prince as possible, Pythagoras felt much more at home than he ever would in the palace, where his standing was fast beginning to change. There he must now spend his days being fussed over, dressed, preened and plucked and prettied.

* * *

He had returned the day before to find his books moved on to an exquisitely carved bookshelf, with beautifully stained glass over the front, designs depicting the swell of peaceful waves against white cliffs. And a finely wrought lock to which he did not have the key.

'Well, you know that many of those books are very valuable… It was foolish to just leave them scattered around your rooms in that way. Anyone could have made off with them!' Minos twisted his hands uncomfortably, faced with the hurt and incomprehension in his son's eyes.

'Father, you know full well that my chambers are some of the safest in the city. What more good will locking up my books do?' He lowered his eyes and took a deep breath, calming himself, before looking back up at his father. 'Why are my books being taken from me?'

Minos sighed. 'It was suggested to me that your time may be better spent acquainting yourself with the workings of the city's military. After all, you are to marry our general. It must be in your power to provide him with your counsel on such matters.'

With that, his resolve and anger crumbled into impotent dust, sinking to the pit of his stomach to form a solid ball of dread and resignation. Pythagoras knew that he had lost the battle. His books were gone.

Barely suppressing tears, he bowed low before the throne- 'My lord'- and headed back to his rooms.

* * *

After returning the little boy and his trailing sister to the parents who had been called to the sickbed of a neighbour, Pythagoras knew that it was time to head back to the palace. Time to stop being such a child and do his duty. Learn to be a good husband.

Heptarian was not a monster. He was a good man, an excellent general, a caring mentor to the young prince as he grew up. But however much he told himself that there was no reason to fear the marriage, that he had known this day would come, it didn't stop the fear. How was he to be a figurehead to wheel out at public occasions, to smile and wave and be utterly useless to everyone?

He sat up late into the night that day, studying his new tracts on the provisioning of the city's army, all of which seemed contradictory and outlandish. He persevered anyway, was determined to conquer the devil on his shoulder that shrieked at him.

_This isn't fair!_

Life isn't fair. The people in the slums have things far worse.

_They have their freedom! Why not take yours? Run. They'll never find you in time. Let them have blessed Heptarian as their king. They don't need you, a skinny scholar incapable of rule._

I will do my duty. Anyway, where would I go? I have no-one. No-one at all.

* * *

Pythagoras woke up when the rays of golden sunlight began to filter mercilessly through the drapes that had been hastily drawn to shield his sleeping form. His neck was stiff from falling asleep with his face turned sideways, planted gracelessly on a pile of requisition orders for the city military.

Blinking himself into consciousness, he ran his hands roughly over his face, attempting to dispel some of the grogginess of too little rest. It was no good, his eyes simply refused to focus on the waving smears of text before his eyes; abstract figures and amounts that simply didn't make sense for a city in peacetime.

The orders to stockpile iron for weaponry and the requisitions for the barracks granary were far too extreme. They must be out of date; his brain must be too weary to make proper conclusions.

But suddenly he was very awake. It wasn't that they didn't make sense. They made absolute, perfect, utterly logical sense. Simply not for an army in peacetime.

They were absolutely correct for a general preparing for war.

**Please do review, it makes me one happy Atlantean! :)**


	4. An Assassin Calls

**Bit of a longer one today, sorry for the wait! Thankyou so much for all the follows and favourites this story has received, you guys are awesome.**

It was true that Heptarian was not a bad man. He was generous, intelligent, good with kids. But he simply could not understand the reluctance of the witless royals to utilise their army.

They had the men, the wealth, and who could blame them for using all of that? The lands surrounding Atlantis were weak. Colchis, Thessaly, the smaller city-states; all would fall easily before the onslaught. Minimal loss of life, the treasury gets topped up, the people of the weaker states get a strong new protector against the raiders from the sea. It was logic, pure and simple, that had spurred him on to make preparations for the invasion of Colchis.

Now all he needed was a pretext. He had thought of rather a fine one.

…

The commander had called one of his underlings, an eager young mercenary recently arrived from the barbarian lands. Few would recognise him, and fewer would link him to the illustrious personage of the General Heptarian, Commander of the Forces of Atlantis, fiancée of the prince Pythagoras and future king. He spoke without turning to face the man, leaning on the rail of the veranda surrounding the palace. Darkness had settled in, making the city murky and dangerous, illuminated only by bursts of light cast by street torches.

'The people of Atlantis love their prince, would you not say?'

The man bobbed his head with enthusiasm.  
'Yes sir, I would say that most emphatically.'

'And how do you think they would react at the news of his tragic loss at the hands of an assassin, from, say, Colchis?'

'I would imagine that they would not be satisfied until the city was at war with Colchis, sir. They are most attached to their prince.'

'How terrible it would be for them to lose him in such a way. Tell me, does the citadel still possess any of the ornamental banners of Colchis?'

'I believe there remain some in storage in readiness to welcome a diplomatic envoy in the near future, sir.'

'I would imagine that we won't be receiving anyone from Colchis for quite a while. They have, after all, just murdered our prince in cold blood.'

The man looked confused. 'Sir?'

Heptarian placed a hand on his shoulder. 'I misspoke, I apologise. I meant to say that an assassin from Colchis _will have _murdered our prince in cold blood in the space of- oh, an hour? If you go now.'

The man looked up as Heptarian placed the banner over his shoulder. The distinctive green pattern winked in the torchlight. Comprehension dawned in his eyes.

'If I go now, then we will be at war by sunrise, sir?'

Heptarian merely nodded.

* * *

Pythagoras was late for dinner. Moreover, he was late for the state banquet, held once a week, at which the city officials were able to declare any grievances and beg resources for their areas of jurisdiction. To miss it would be the height of impropriety.

He burst through the heavy doors to his chamber, Castor, his manservant, springing up at the precise moment of his entry. He had clearly been counting the minutes by which the prince was behind schedule, and immediately began thrusting garments at him.

Clean tunic, soft blue warmth pulled over his head. No time for a wash, or the modesty of his dressing screen. Cream leggings. Another tunic, silk, darker blue than the first, hurriedly fastened slightly too tightly. A comb dragged through the soft gold curls that had been coated in the dust of the roads, kicked up by traders' carts.

He barely noticed the man in green enter, quietly closing the door behind him. Assumed he was there to chivvy them along.

Castor was combing out the last tangle, examining the prince's reflection in the mirror as he stood behind him, when he saw the flash of silver in the man's hand.

Time slowed.

He heard himself cry out. What he said he never knew. He turned, blocking Pythagoras from view. Still seated, he had yet to realise what was happening.

'Step aside, boy.'

'No. You'll have to kill me first.' His own voice sounded surprisingly calm, considering he had only a hairbrush against a sword. He remembered that the prince had a knife in his bedside dresser, but that was too far away.

The man shrugged. 'Makes no odds to me.'

The steel felt oddly cold as it passed through him. The tearing sound of muscle and gut was loud in the quietness of the evening. He didn't even scream as blood blossomed across his front.

He felt, rather than heard the movement behind him as Pythagoras pulled out a knife from his discarded cloak. He watched as the prince thrust it into the chest of the intruder, whose sword was still embedded in his stomach.

He seemed to be on the floor. How strange. The other man was writhing, groaning, then still. His eyes rolled up to the silken, billowing ceiling.

Castor had never thought of it before, but the silks looked just like the sails of a ship. A beautiful ship. He wondered where it was taking him as his eyes closed.

* * *

Pythagoras was numb. It had all happened so quickly, from Castor's yell to pushing a knife into yielding flesh. To holding his manservant as he died.

He looked so lost, standing in the doorway to his bloodstained bedroom. Minos held out his arms and his son went into them without question.

'I couldn't save him, father.' Burning tears squeezed from under Pythagoras' eyelids. All he could see was Castor's sweetly peaceful face, pale as the blood drained from his stomach on to Pythagoras' hands. There was so much blood.

'He saved your life, my son, and for that I am eternally grateful.'

Pythagoras couldn't say anything for a moment, as the silent tears rolled over his face. He made no effort to stop them.

His father rubbed his back soothingly.

'Now we make sure that you're safe.'

* * *

Minos was furious. He had left his son and heir almost catatonic with grief and shock. The rage boiled in his blood, filling his veins with heat and his body with purpose as he swept into the quarters of his general.

'How did this happen?!' he bellowed. Heptarian thought he looked utterly deranged. 'How is it that my son, _my son_, had to fight off an assassin with his own two hands?'

Heptarian simply blinked at him. Minos' eyes narrowed dangerously.

'That was not a rhetorical question.'

'My lord, it would seem that the king of Colchis has sent an assassin after the prince. It is probable that he meant to demoralise the city, and to strike a personal blow to yourself before commencing an invasion.'

'I am fully aware of the situation at hand, disturbing as it is. But I ask you, Heptarian, how it is possible, nay, even _conceivable_, that such a person could enter this palace undetected, make his way through your legions of guards, past the personally selected squad placed you had placed outside Pythagoras' chambers and manage to kill his manservant before being dispatched by the prince himself? Hmm? Does it surprise you that my confidence in you is somewhat shaken after tonight?'

'I assure you, my lord, that my men…'

'Your men, Heptarian? Your men, who were powerless to protect this palace? Do you expect me to trust to the brains of ignorant brutes who do not even _notice_ that my son is danger?'

Heptarian bowed his head. 'I assure you that such a thing will never happen again, my lord.'

'You are right there. I am relieving your men of the duty of guarding my son.' The king nodded to the servant at the door, waiting patiently and utterly unperturbed by his rage. 'Send for the man I spoke of earlier.'

* * *

It was mid-morning of the next day, which looked set to be a scorcher. Jason could already feel sweat beginning to itch on the back of his neck.

Hercules barrelled into the apartment at great speed, looking around frantically before waving an arm in Jason's general direction.

The boy was sitting around sunning himself, not even bothering to put on a shirt! He was damned lucky to have thrown himself upon Medusa's mercy and not his, or he'd have been out on his ear, guards or no guards. Still, he would make all of their fortunes after today.

He'd been running so hard that he had to stop and pant, holding his knees to regain enough breath to deliver his message before he toppled over.

Jason leaned down in front of the hyperventilating Hercules to check that his face hadn't gone a dangerous shade of purple.

'What is it?'

'Prince… assassin.. you..' Hercules prodded him weakly in the chest. 'You…palace…go…'

'What?! The prince was assassinated?' Jason was dismayed; he'd heard nothing but good things about Pythagoras. It was certainly a surprise to hear of a royal who spent his time running around the lower town curing plagues and stitching up drunks after fistfights. Not to mention the whole triangle thing.

'No, you fool! There was an attempt, some idiot broke in with a sword and tried to… Well, you get the picture. The king's all riled up, he wants extra protection for the boy in case they try again.' He prodded Jason's chest again, though with affection this time.

'He's asked for you! Apparently you were very highly recommended.'

**Yay! Jason's going to the palace (finally)! Please do review and keep reading, it means the absolute world, you bunch of lovelies!**


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